


Holy water

by Escritora2Aliasfox



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escritora2Aliasfox/pseuds/Escritora2Aliasfox
Summary: Crowley gets home to a surprise...(Edited)





	Holy water

Crowley was paranoid, like any healthy demon, but that night, he was also drunk.  
He came back from driving the ángel home after a lovely dinner and had no time to react.  
He barely even flinched when he opened the door to his flat and found a known face on the other side.

"Peekaboo" said Hastur, and shot him right in the face with a spry, grining widely

The pain was instant. Crowley launched backwards howling and hit the wall. He took his hands to his face and all he could do is get them burned toó.

Hastur grasped him by the arm, threw him in and closed the door. Crowley twisted in pain on the floor, and the other contemplated in twisted joy.

The pain kept on... and Hastur, rubber boots and gloves up to the knee and forearm, spryed him again, on the scalp.  
Crowley shrieked with an Inhuman sound. The pain extended fast and wide and he could barely get any air throu his windpipe...

But he didnt need to breathe.

The torment continued and he could only moan... and Hastur cursed.

"What the...?" he unscrolled the spry bottle and spilled all of its content directly on Crowley's head.  
he jerked up to him and managed to shout, thoug he had meant to say 'fuck of'

Hastur stepped back, and huried to get off his clothes, wich had caught some drops of holy water.  
He used them to dry the little wet points and still got nasty burns that would hurt for Satan knows how long.  
He looked at Crowley with renewed anger and shock, and managed  
"How you do this?"  
Crowley tried to slither towards the bathroom, but the other kicked him.

"Speak!"  
The serpent managed a clumsy "id huurzz"  
"It should burn!" Hastur babbled "Why is not...? How are you doing it!?"

Crowley didn't know. He was not even registering the full situation, and even if he did, he could not talk.  
So Hastur stood there, shouting insults, and kicking him from time to time, while he dragged his body to the bathtube and opened the shower.  
The burn extended slightly down his body to the sewers and then there was no more holy water. Only normal water.

After a while under the cold shower Crowley felt himself get back to his senses, and looked around.

One of his eyes was blinded. The other was a bit... Clouded. He had to look close to the palm of his hand...  
It was burnt allright. But it didn't look like a fire burn. ...more like an ácid burn.  
He should be a pool of melted goo on the floor, but, somehow, the holy water had barely caused on him some short of alérgic reaction.  
He carefully made it to the mirror, and palmed and looked at his face.

The parts where water had run down merged with more water looked like afected by a harsh sun burn. There where it had touched him directly, it was like he had been stung by a nest of bees and spilled with acid.

It hurt, but he should be dead.  
And he was not.  
Hastur stood by the door, in shock.

"Speak. How"  
Crowley had to half miracle his voice through.  
"Can't speak"  
"Speak or it'll be worse"  
"...Don't know"  
"My arse!"

Crowley crouched down on his knees, appealing to Hastur's title.  
"I swear I dun' know mah lord!"

Hastur took air and puffed his chest full, a grin on his face.  
"Then, I'll get promoted. For taking you back for further investigation"

Crowley nearly fainted of panic over panic atack.  
"...let me dress"  
"Nonesense"  
"Say bye?"  
"Not a chance"  
"Say bye!?"  
"No!"

Hastur held him by the neck like a dog and dragged him out and down the stairs unceremoniously not caring for any petty humans that may be watching.

In a dessperated atempt, Crowley got out his phone and carefully messaged the ángel. Then, a lost call.

'Help. Urgent. No time. Mircl hre nw' had been the text.  
He also tried to slow the way as much as posible, holding into the barrets of the stairs and the door again and again but Hastur was stronger.

He was already pushing him into his demon-car thingy when a voice called his attention.

"Excuse me"  
Hastur turned. Aziraphale was standing a few steps behind him.  
"Eh... "  
Crowley looked at him hopefully. Aziraphale seemed to take some time to recognice him, and he lunged forwards.  
"Wh... What on the heavens did you do to him!?"  
But Hastur stoped him with a hand to the chest.

"And why would you care, hm? You petty fluffy good-dooer. Go back to your daddy!"

Aziraphale had to resist counting the blasphemis on those words and tried to keep his stance propperly.

"This demon and I have a... an arrangement. I..."  
Hastur spit to his feet  
"Fuck you. Or better. I fuck you and get promoted"

Aziraphale's eyes went wide and then the two turned to the sound of one of the car's doors being opened: Crowley had crossed the inside of the car and run back upstairs.

Hastur cursed and run after him, followed by Aziraphale, who threatened him with smiting him, thoug he was not really strong enough to do so.

Crowley got to his flat and crouched behind the door moments before Hastur, and made him trip to the floor when crossing the tresshold.  
He sat on his chest, all of his weight (wich was not much) to push his head down onto the floor.

It was a petty atempt, as the duke was way more powefull.  
...but there was a pull of holly water on the floor. In wich Hastur's back of the head was dipped, and burnt.

Crowley jumped away as fast and far as he could, and Hastur twisted in pain with fire deep on his head.

That is, 'till little after when Aziraphale came throu, saw an impossible chance and smitted him.

Crowley relaxed. Aziraphale rose and turned to him.  
"Dear, I... am sorry for all that"  
Crowley waved it away with a gesture.  
"I. Had kill his. Companion. When the end"  
"My dear, are you allright?"  
Crowley denied with his head.

Aziraphale seated him up on his bed and got out some cream to apply on Crowley's burns.

The efect was instantaneous. Crowley though it was some miraculous substance, untill he looked at the bottle and saw it was some common pommade. 

...then he saw further.  
He saw Aziraphale, and his gente hands carefully aplying it...  
It was him. Had to be.

How long had he been... less susceptible to such a certain doom as holy water? And was it for the extended exposure to him... or something else?

"So, what did he...?"  
"Holy water"  
"My dear Im so sorry. Good thing I got here in time..."  
Crowley gulped before afronting the case.  
"Had it been normal, I would've burn before sending the text"  
Aziraphale stood still one moment.  
"Godness. Good thing he... eh ...?"  
"It was normal holy water. Should've killed me. Dunno why didn't"

There was a silence.  
"Aziraphale"  
"Hum?"  
"You... Didn't have to. Why you... Help?"  
Aziraphale seemed to consider his answer.  
"I have an arrangement with you, my dear. If you were gone, they would send someone more... Dificult"  
Ah, the arrangement, ineffable excuse.  
"And nurse me?"  
Aziraphale thoug a bit more.  
"Well, being in such state you're vulnerable. I need you alive so..."

Crowley nodded. There was another silence. Aziraphale did notice the lié in his own words, together with Crowley's aknolegement of it. Both did, but none spoke, for the inmense territory to explore beyond was quite scary.

He finished tending to Crowley's wounds, and, afraid of the odd silence, tried to leave.

Crowley stoped him clumsily, holding him of the arm, and, hesitantly asked

"...may you stay? You know. Me being weak and you needeng me? ...alive. That is. ...?"

Aziraphale stared at his eyes and he started back. And he smiled sadly. Terrified.  
"Sure. It is part of my job"  
"Of course"

And so Crowley went back to sleep, with the reasurance of having found the freaking cure for holy water, wich no other demon would ever have, and wich was sitting reclined against him, reading a book.


End file.
